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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505968">Play it again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_findlow/pseuds/m_findlow'>m_findlow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Torchwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:02:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505968</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_findlow/pseuds/m_findlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a diner at the end of the universe...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>fic_promptly Fills 2016</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Play it again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/badly_knitted/gifts">badly_knitted</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It doesn't look anything like the last time he was here, Jack thinks. Then again, the place has a habit of doing that, changing to suit the conditions, whatever those might be. Now it looks like the dusty American west, all hot and dry, with large red rock buttes and tumbleweeds, and not another living soul for miles.</p><p>Well, maybe one.</p><p>It might be the middle of nowhere but there's a diner, plonked here in no man's land. No cars, no gas station, no roads even, just a diner. It's bizarre, but then so is most of the universe if you stop to think about it long enough.</p><p>The diner is sparkly and new, all white laminate bench tops, chrome fixtures and red checkered tablecloths. High bar stools line the counter, and laminated menus alternate with napkin dispensers and glasses full of colourful, stripey drinking straws.</p><p>When they first walk in he's convinced that the place must be abandoned. Yet the inside is very clean. It's kind of a shame, since he's suddenly got a really strong craving for a strawberry milkshake.</p><p>Instead, a young woman pops out from the kitchen behind the counter and smiles at him. She's short, with long brown hair, casually tied back, and brown eyes, and that little blue waitress uniform, he admits, is kind of kinky. What surprises him most is the accent when she says "what can I get you?" It's English. Blackpool if he's not mistaken.</p><p>'Two strawberry milkshakes, thanks.'</p><p>'Chocolate,' Ianto interjects.</p><p>'One strawberry and one chocolate milkshake, please. And a bowl of fries. No, make that two.' He grins at Ianto who just rolls his eyes at him.</p><p>She smiles and heads back out to the kitchen for a minute before returning. If there's anyone else back there in the kitchen, they're silent. 'Where are you both from, then?' she asks, leaning forward on the counter, eyes sparkling with curiosity.</p><p>'All kinds of places,' he replies, loving that vague air of mystery he commands.</p><p>'I used to know someone who always said that,' she replies. 'He had old eyes too.'</p><p>Jack tenses slightly. He hates it when people seem to sense there's something not quite right with him.</p><p>'Ianto Jones,' Ianto puts his hand forth to shake hers, avoiding the awkward moment. You wouldn't normally shake hands with a waitress, but it just seems like one of those places where it would be wrong not to.</p><p>'Clara,' she replies.</p><p>'Nice diner you've got here, Clara,' Jack says, recovered from his awkward moment. 'Get many customers?'</p><p>'Now and then.'</p><p>'What do you do around here to pass the time, when you're not flipping burgers?'</p><p>She smiles and nods towards an old jukebox sitting in the corner.</p><p>'Cool,' Jack says. 'Ianto, got a quarter?'</p><p>Ianto rolls his eyes again. That would be a no.</p><p>Clara pulls a coin from her front pocket and reaches over the counter. 'My shout.'</p><p>Jack happily accepts the quarter and bounces over to the jukebox.</p><p>'What are our options?' Ianto asks him.</p><p>'It'll play anything you can think of,' Clara tells them.</p><p>Jack grins and pushes the quarter in the slot without any further consultation from Ianto. A few seconds later, the machine begins pumping out a familiar beat.</p><p>"What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing?<br/>Can't you tell that your tie's too wide?<br/>Maybe I should buy some old tab collars?<br/>Welcome back to the age of jive..."</p><p>Jack grabs Ianto stand and spins his unwilling feet around the floor, Clara laughing at the pair of them. When the chorus starts, she begins to sing along.</p><p>'You know Billy Joel?' Jack asks her, mid twirl, curious and surprised</p><p>'Might've heard it once of or twice,' she confesses.</p><p>'So, is this diner here because we imagined it, playing music we know because we're here, reading our thoughts?'</p><p>'No,' she replies, coy smile on her face. 'It's always here.'</p><p>'Huh,' he says, not sure what that even means.</p><p>He stares at Ianto who just shrugs at him. He's learned to go along with weird and unexpected. An American style diner on a planet in the middle of nowhere with no customers, a waitress from Blackpool, and a jukebox that plays 1980's music from his home is perfectly sedate in comparison to some of the stuff they've seen.</p><p>'Got another quarter?' Jack asks.</p><p>Clara grins. 'Always. But the next dance is mine.'</p>
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